


the colours inside your head

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:08:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Grantaire invites his friends to his graduate art exhibition and then proceeds to freak out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the colours inside your head

"I can't fucking do this," Grantaire blurts out over the phone, the night before his graduation exhibition. 

"Of course you can," Jehan replies calmly. This isn't the first time Grantaire has called them about this and well, there are still another eight hours until the exhibition itself. It probably won't be the last. 

"I'm going to drop out. Then they'll have to take my paintings out of the exhibit, right?" Grantaire tugs at his hair, knowing full well that he's being ridiculous. That doesn't mean he can stop. "I'm going to call up the art department first thing tomorrow morning and tell them that I'm officially pulling out and that's it. They'll have to take my paintings down."

"You are _not_ dropping out," Jehan tells him firmly. "Not when you've already finished all your course material and submitted your final work in. You've finished already, Grantaire, all you need to do is go to this exhibit and get your final marks and that's it. The silly-hat ceremony might not be for a while, but you'll officially be graduated tomorrow."

"That gives me a few more hours," Grantaire says desperately.

"Grantaire, if you drop out after you've come this far," Jehan says, their tone calm and even, "I will personally come over to your house and break both your hands so that you will never pick up a paintbrush in your life, ever again." 

"You wouldn't." Grantaire shakes his head, even though he knows that Jehan can't see. "You wouldn't do that. You'd have to put up with me bitching at you for the rest of my life."

"Drop out and that's exactly what I'll do," Jehan replies. Grantaire knows better than to push but Jehan sighs and continues speaking in a softer tone. "Look, why don't you come over? Bahorel's out with Feuilly anyway and they probably won't be back until late. I have a feeling Feuilly's going to crash here instead of making it all the way back to your place anyway. Might as well make a slumber party out of it."

"You just want to keep an eye on me," Grantaire mutters.

"And is that a bad thing?" Jehan asks and Grantaire can just _hear_ the raised eyebrow in their tone. "Am I unjustified for wanting to make sure that you don't do something that you'll regret later?"

"Pretty sure that ship has sailed," Grantaire mutters. "I regret ever painting those stupid things."

"You don't mean that," Jehan replies. "They're amazing."

"You haven't even seen them," Grantaire tells him. "Nobody has. I haven't let anyone get even close to them."

"Yes, well, that doesn't matter. You painted them, R, and they matter to you enough that you're making yourself sick with worry over the thought of other people seeing them. That's all I need to know. They're wonderful and I've been looking forward to seeing them ever since you invited all of us to come to your exhibition. So I better get my chance to actually see them."

Grantaire smiles. "Thanks, man. I'll be over soon, okay? Might pick up a bottle of wine on the way."

"Just the one," Jehan replies. "Any other night, I'd tell you to pick up another for me, but we're going to make sure that you _aren't_ horribly hungover the day of your exhibition."

"You're the worst."

"Lies and slander," Jehan is smiling now and Grantaire can hear it over the phone. "Besides, I have this freshly-baked apple pie that I've just taken out of the oven…"

"You're the best, Jehan," Grantaire says quickly. "I'll be over real soon, okay?"

Jehan laughs. "See you soon."

:·:

Grantaire wakes the next morning in a cuddle pile on the floor of Jehan and Bahorel's apartment. There are blankets and pillows everywhere and his head is resting on Bahorel's stomach, with Feuilly sprawled across his legs.

Jehan has managed to extricate himself from the pile and is sitting on the single seater couch that they pushed aside for more floorspace, drinking a cup of coffee.

_Help_ , Grantaire mouths. 

Jehan only grins in reply.

"To hell with you then," Grantaire mutters, quietly enough that he won't disturb the others, and works on trying to figure out how to get free. 

"How are you feeling?" Jehan asks, once Grantaire finally manages to get himself out and walks over to the kitchen, making himself a mug of coffee.

"Nervous as fuck."

"But no longer tempted to ring up the school and drop out?" 

Grantaire snorts. "Hell no, I'm not brave enough to try that when I'm pretty sure that all three of you will try breaking my fingers."

Jehan grins widely at him. "Good."

"At least they'll be alcohol at the exhibition," Grantaire mutters. "I don't think I could do it sober."

"Well, you're not going to do it blind drunk either," Jehan tells him firmly. "You're allowed two glasses before and that's it. And then afterwards, I'll take you out myself and you can get as drunk as you'd like. How does that sound?"

"Two glasses?" Grantaire grumbles. "That's not going to do anything, except maybe get me a little buzzed."

"That's the point. You need to be more or less sober for this."

"You're the worst," Grantaire grumbles.

"There's leftover pie," Jehan reminds him.

"Okay, okay, my bad. You're the best person in the entire world and I love you. There is nobody else in the entire world you loves you more than I do, I swear."

"You fuckin' what," Bahorel mumbles sleepily.

"Nothing, darling," Jehan replies. "Good morning."

"Morning," Bahorel says, not getting up from where he is. "Big day huh, R?"

"Don't remind me," Grantaire groans. "I'm thinking about it way more than I want to be already."

Feuilly rolls over, yawning loudly before he sits up. "You'll be fine. Everything's going to be fine and you know it."

Grantaire grumbles quietly, but nods. As far as his friends know, he's just nervous about the fact that come seven o'clock this evening, they're all going to see the paintings that he's poured his heart and soul into for the past few months which, yeah, is more than a little terrifying. The real reason that he's so terrified, though, is because of what the subject of the paintings are. He's put everything into them and it feels more revealing than any drunken ramble ever has. 

Grantaire can talk and he knows it. He can go for hours, words becoming sentences becoming long-winded paragraphs, uttered between sips from a bottle. Painting is different. When he speaks, when he tries to express his thoughts in words, they become jumbled and he talks and talks until he gets all of it out, even if it's not quite in the right order. He's not like Jehan, who can pick his words carefully to draw the most emotion from his listeners. He's nowhere close to Enjolras, who writes speeches in his head just as easily as he breathes. Painting, however, is how he expresses himself. His paintings are honest, stylistically rough around the edges but more carefully thought out, more deliberately put together than his words ever are. 

Looking at these paintings is probably the closest anyone is ever going to get to the inside of Grantaire's head and that's what terrifies him the most. The thought that his friends might decide they don't like what they see is what has Grantaire dreading the exhibition. He shouldn't have invited any of them. He shouldn't have told them about it at all. Now, there's nothing he can do but wait and see what happens.

:·:

He goes to the exhibit with Jehan, Bahorel and Feuilly. They're the first ones to see his paintings and he can't bear to stand there and watch them so he turns away, walks around the gallery a bit and has a look at his classmates' paintings. They're all much, much better than his and in the end, that doesn't help at all. He takes a deep breath and turns back around, returning to the wall where his paintings are hung.

His friends are standing there and staring at him. Grantaire freezes and for the life of him, he can't tell whether the expressions of their faces are good or bad.

Then Jehan steps forward and throws their arms around Grantaire. "I _told_ you they would be amazing. You're amazing. Wow, Grantaire, I don't even know what to say. I love them."

"Yeah?" Grantaire asks with a small smile, looking at Bahorel and Feuilly, who both grin in reply. 

"Fucking awesome, man," Bahorel tells him, thumping him on the back. "I knew you'd be great, but wow. Just wait until the others see!"

Grantaire's stomach lurches at the very thought. He's invited all of his friends and that means—

"Enjolras!" Jehan waves. "Over here!"

Grantaire doesn't know if he should turn around, but he does and then immediately regrets it. This is a black tie event. Enjolras is wearing a gorgeous black suit that gits him like a glove, his hair pulled back into a braid, a look of anticipation in his eyes that Grantaire doesn't even know how to process. 

"Grantaire. Congratulations." Enjolras clasps his shoulder tightly. He glances around at the artwork on the walls around them. "Which way to your paintings?"

"Uh." Grantaire steps aside, gesturing at the wall that they're standing right in front of. "Here."

He doesn't turn away quickly enough to miss the way Enjolras' eyes go wide with amazement. After that, he finds that he wants to keep looking. Enjolras steps as close to the paintings as he is permitted, taking in every single detail before moving on to the next. Grantaire is transfixed, watching Enjolras, and the rest of the gallery just fades into background noise. His entire world narrows down to the small quirk of Enjolras' lips with each new painting, the way he reads the description for each painting like he's actually _interested_.

His paintings are all part of a series inspired by the work of Paul Kuczynski and his social commentary. Grantaire's paintings are equally abstract and a little more violent. When Enjolras looks away from the paintings and back at Grantaire, it's like he's seeing through completely new eyes.

"Grantaire," he breathes. "This is amazing."

"It's not really—"

"It's _amazing_ ," Enjolras says firmly, stepping forward and taking Grantaire's hands into his own. "Amazing, do you hear me? I… I always hoped that this was how you felt, but I could never be sure."

"Of course it's how I feel," Grantaire replies. "I—try not to, but I feel just as strongly as you do about the world. About society. I might not believe that we can fix things quite as easily as you do and you might have a hard time getting me to repeat this when we're elsewhere, but _fuck_ do I wish the world was a better place. I wish the more people would get off their arses and do something about it because then maybe we'd actually get somewhere. I try not feeling anything so I don't get disappointed but sometimes, it's just so fucking difficult."

"Oh, Grantaire," Enjolras murmurs, squeezing Grantaire's hands gently.

"Am I the only one who feels like they just witnessed a confession of love?" Bahorel asks, only to have Jehan whack his arm loudly.

Enjolras blushes bright red and Grantaire is sure his face is bright enough to match. Enjolras moves to withdraw his hands but Grantaire holds on for an extra moment. Because he's being open enough with how he feels tonight, he might as well be open about this, too.

"Can I steal Grantaire for a moment?" Enjolras asks, glancing around at their other friends. 

Feuilly snorts and waves them away. Jehan beams. Bahorel smirks, folding his arms across his chest. " _Have fun_."

Enjolras continues to hold one of Grantaire's hands, leading him outside and to the side of the building, where they're alone and out of sight.

"Enjolras?"

"You haven't pulled your hand out of mine once on our way out here," Enjolras says quietly, "but I don't want to assume. I want to hear you say that you want this as much as I do."

"Want—Enjolras, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying I want _you_. That I've been trying to ignore my feelings for longer than I can even remember. Like you said, I try not to feel anything so I'm not disappointed… but sometimes, Grantaire, it's just…"

"Fucking difficult," Grantaire breathes. "Yeah. I know."

"I need to hear you say the words," Enjolras tells him.

"I want you," Grantaire whispers, then laughs quietly. "Fuck, yeah, I want you Enjolras."

They wrap their arms around each other, foreheads resting against each other. Grantaire feels brave enough to press a kiss to Enjolras' lips and the returning kiss is longer, deeper as they cling to each other even tighter. 

"You need to go back inside," Enjolras murmurs, pulling away.

"What about you?"

"I'll be right beside you," Enjolras says, taking hold of his hand again. "For as long as you want me to be."

"All night?" Grantaire asks. 

" _All night_ ," Enjolras repeats, raising an eyebrow with a small smirk that already has Grantaire looking forward to the end of the exhibit. "Ready?"

Their other friends must have arrived by now and Grantaire can only imagine how they'll react to not only the paintings, but the fact that he and Enjolras are going to holding hands all night. 

Grinning, he squeezes Enjolras' hand. "Yeah. I'm ready."


End file.
